


Take Shelter from the Storm

by Chrissy24601



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Javert is terrified, M/M, Thunderstorms, Valjean helps him, post-Seine AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrissy24601/pseuds/Chrissy24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Javert, you are the singularly most fearless man I know. I find it very hard to believe that someone like you could be afraid of a little thunder and lightning. But you are, aren’t you?”</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Javert said nothing, but the way his bright blue eyes widened when they heard another rumble was answer enough. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Fill for Les Mis Kink Meme prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Shelter from the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Another cheesy title in my repetoire, but it fit the bill...eh, the fill.

Life in Paris had been too hot for days. When he rose that morning, Valjean had planned to get some gardening done, but shortly after breakfast he had concluded that the sun was already too strong to stay outside. Javert had not even bothered to venture beyond the shade of the house. One look at him told Valjean why:  
  
“If you are not going to go out today, you might as well change into something more comfortable than full attire.”  
  
Javert scoffed. “I did not retire my deceny along with my position, Valjean,” he snapped, not looking up from the newspaper he was ‘perusing’. It was nothing short of a miracle that the flimsy pages didn’t tear.  
  
“I’ve seen you a lot less decent than this,” Valjean said with a devious smirk, hoping to lighten the broody mood. “To be honest, I wouldn’t complain if you decided it was too hot to wear anything at all.”  
  
After two years of living together on top of their already extensive history, Valjean was more than used to Javert’s snarky remarks. That was who the man was, and usually he thought little of them. But the dark glare his lover gave him now was the kind that had made the worst of Paris’ criminals quake in their boots. Valjean swallowed involuntarily.  
  
“Perhaps you should at least take off your coat,” he tried. “I might make you a little less cranky.”  
  
Javert snarled at him. “You truly think that a summer suit could be worse than a woolen uniform? Policemen and prison guards do NOT get cool linen clothes just because the sun is shining!” The over- emphasized negation sounded like the crack of a whip. Valjean winced.  
  
“Well, that _would_ make a man cranky, I suppose.”  
  
 _“Then you know now why my lashes stung harder during a heatwave!”_  
  
Valjean froze, as did Javert. Then the younger man brought a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forgive me, that was uncalled for.”  
  
“Forgiven,” said Valjean, meaning it. They had learned early on that it was madness to think they could live together and never stumble on the past. “But you must admit you are very uptight today.”  
  
Javert sighed, folding the newspaper twice – only to unfold and refold it differently - before putting it down. “Some people get agitated when a storm is brewing,” he said, eyes fixed securely on the floor.  
  
“Oh, that would be welcome!” Valjean said. “A little fall of rain would be nice for the garden, and there is nothing like a good thunderstorm to dispell this clammy heat.”  
  
Javert shuddered, paling a fraction. “I care nothing for them,” he said resolutely before getting up and disappearing upstairs without another word.

* * *

Javert’s mood did not improve as the day progressed. He had eventually come down from his room during the afternoon, but only to pace aimlessly through the parlour, muttering to himself. Whenever Valjean tried to catch his attention, he was completely ignored.   
  
Perhaps it was the humid atmosphere in the house that made Javert so on edge. Now that the dark clouds that had loomed on the horizon since morning drifted rapidly towards the city, the wind had picked up considerably. Making the most of the change of weather, Valjean opened a few windows so the sticky heat that had accumulated in the house could dissipate.  
  
“Are you quite _mad_?!” Javert exclaimed when he saw Valjean working the parlour window. “There is a storm coming and you are _opening windows_?!"  
  
“Just for now,” Valjean said, stricken. “I will close them before it starts raining, I promise.”  
  
“Rain?” Javert stared at him, his expression halfway between stonecold and furious. “You are worried about the rain?!”  
  
“Eh… aren’t you?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Then what is— Hey!” Valjean tried to stop Javert, but the window was already slammed shut with such force that he feared the small panes might shatter. They didn’t, but he was sure it was a close call. “Javert, what on Earth do you think you’re doing?”  
  
Outside, a soft rumble promised rain. It was clearly a distant roll of thunder, although it could just as easily have been a heavy cart driving over cobblestones or a stack of barrels toppling over.  
  
Yet Javert strained as if a gun had gone off in the room.  
  
Valjean couldn’t help but smile awkwardly as a realisation began to dawn. “Oh, you cannot be serious.”  
  
“What?!” Javert snapped, his back ramrod straight with tension.  
  
Valjean stared increduously at him. “Javert, with my own eyes I have seen you face half a dozen of the most notorious gangsters in Paris. By yourself. I have seen you stare down the barrel of a loaded gun and call the bluff of the man holding it. You didn’t even flinch when he pulled the trigger.”  
  
“Of course not! It was a poor weapon. I knew it would misfire.”  
  
“Even so, most men would have wet themselves at the thought alone.”  
  
Javert snorted in disdain and resumed his attentive observation of the storm clouds beyond the window. With a commisserate sigh, Valjean approached his lover and cupped the man’s cheek, weaving his fingers in the greying sideburn as he gently made the tall man face him.  
  
“What I meant to say, is that you are the singularly most fearless man I know,” he said reverently when Javert finally looked at him. “Therefore I find it very hard to believe that someone like you could be afraid of a little thunder and lightning. But you are, aren’t you?”  
  
Javert said nothing, but the way his bright blue eyes widened when they heard another rumble, slightly louder than the previous, was answer enough. 

* * *

After closing every window in the house, Valjean had tried to get Javert to sit down. In vain. As the storm came closer, Javert became ever more skittish, rarely standing still for more than three seconds at a time.  
  
At first, the way he would flinch at a faraway flash of light or even the faintest sound had something adorable about it. But as the sky grew darker and the thunder got louder, Valjean began to worry. A little nervousness was one thing, but the increasingly alarmed look in Javert’s eyes had long since surpassed ‘nervous’.  
  
“It is only noise, Javert,” he said yet again when Javert winced sharply at the latest clap of thunder. “It will be over soon enough.” He tried to sound reassuring, but he could not longer keep out a hint of exasperation.  
  
Javert did not reply. He continued pacing with clenched hands. Ten minutes ago, he had been flexing them, but not so now, Valjean noticed. Now his knuckles were white.  
  
“Tell me, what it is that alarms you so?” In all honesty, he could imagine a few things. For one, he was well aware of Javert’s uneasy relationship with stoves and other things that involved flames. “Are you afraid a lightning strike will start a house fire?”  
  
“It happens,” Javert said, momentarily grasping the back of Valjean’s fauteuil. “Not often, but it happens.”  
  
“But it isn’t what drives you up the walls right now,” Valjean deduced from the fact he got an answer at all. “Lightning strikes are the greatest risk during a thunderstorm, so if that isn’t what scares you, what is?”  
  
Javert turned away from the fauteuil and strode towards the window to look outside, yet stopped within three foot of the glass. A brilliant bolt of lightning slithered across the dark clouds, startling him so much that he yelped.  
  
“Oh, come off it, Javert!” Valjean exclaimed as the thunder clap followed the flash. “Stop acting like a filly! We’re inside the house, so we are perfectly safe.”  
  
Javert swept around and glared at Valjean. His eyes were wide open and frantic. “Did you ever see ball lightning, Valjean?” he hissed between his teeth.  
  
Ball lightning? “I have heard about the phenomenon, but I have never seen it.”  
  
“I have!” Javert grated, nostrils flaring. “It comes inside, Valjean! It comes in through an opened door, a window… Through a barred hole in the wall!”  
  
Valjean’s mouth shaped a silent ‘Oh’. Now things began to make sense. “You saw such a thing when you were little?”  
  
“It came into our cell…” Javert whispered. Valjean wasn’t sure if his lover still saw him or the parlour of their house. “It was so bright. Not big, not long, but then—BANG!” A loud crash of thunder punctuated the last word with dramatic precision. Javert cringed, pressing his hands to his ears.  
  
When the sound faded, he looked at Valjean, terror written all over his face. “I cannot stay here,” he muttered, and before Valjean could say anything, he all but ran out of the room.

“Javert, wait!” Valjean called as he got up to hurry after his lover, but Javert’s long legs had already carried him into the hallway. “Javert!”  
  
Another flash lit the windows, followed almost instantly by a loud crash of thunder. Javert whipped around as if stricken, back pressed momentarily against the wall by the stairs. This gave Valjean a precious second to catch up, but as soon as he had, Javert turned to bolt up the stairs.  
  
He got as far as the second step before a strong arm grabbed his waist and pulled him down.  
  
Thunder roared overhead as they collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Javert scrambled to get up again, but Valjean wouldn’t let him, holding him in a tight embrace while they sat on the tiled floor.  
  
“Hush,” Valjean whispered in his lover’s ear. “I know you are afraid, but it will be all right, I promise.”  
  
Javert struggled against the arms that held him. Despair gave him strength, but it was unfocussed and Valjean always had been the stronger man. For all its tender love, Valjean’s embrace was like a vice.  
  
“Be still, mon coeur. I will protect you,” he said soothingly. “I will not let anything or anyone hurt you.”  
  
For a precious moment, Javert ceased his thrashing. His chest heaved rapidly, but stopped abruptly when a new flash bathed the hallway in blue light and a terribly crash threatened to tear the tiles from the roof.  
  
Valjean continued to cradle the man trembling in his arms, but when he saw that Javert had gone deathly pale for fright, he decided it was enough. He cupped Javert’s face to make his lover face him.  
  
“Look at me,” he commanded. It was not a tone he liked taking, but it was one Javert was invariably susceptible to. Now was no exception, and brilliant blue eyes locked on his. Valjean smiled. “Trust me,” he said, and pulled his lover into a slow, deep kiss.  
  
Javert started, first at being kissed, then at another thunder clap echoing all through the house. But Valjean did not release him, and Javert did not try to pull away. If anything, he clamped onto Valjean and tried to bury himself deeper in their embrace than was physically possible.

Lightning and thunder clamoured all around them as the storm raged, yet they did not let go, lips parting only to draw breath before devouring each other again. By the light of continuous flashes, hands continued what their mouths started, making short work of waistcoats and shirt buttons to explore the expanses of their bodies beneath.  
  
Entangled as they were, undoing their trousers’ fastenings took concentration neither of them had anymore. Valjean pushed Javert with his back onto the floor, pinning him down. What he felt rub against his leg – and what of his that rubbed Javert’s – told him his improvised fear management was indeed successful.  
  
Very successful. Between the sweltering summer heat, the energy of the storm and their own mutual excitement, neither of them lasted very long. Javert’s fingers dug into his shoulders as they managed to come very nearly simultaneously. Spent and panting, Valjean rolled off his lover, feeling the cold of the stone tiles against his sweat-soaked shirt and his come making a sticky mess of his drawers. A bath and a change of clothes would have to feature in the foreseeable future, but not right now…  
  
For a few minutes, they lay still, staring at the ceiling catching their breath. The last role of thunder had not been followed by another, but was replaced by a loud rattle of rain against the windows.  
  
“This isn’t the first thunderstorm we’ve had here,” Valjean said, still not getting up. “What did you do to get thought the previous ones?”  
  
“Lock myself in my room and pray until it stopped.”  
  
Valjean raised his head. “Pray? I thought you said the only time you ever truly prayed was when you lost my trail in Paris!”  
  
“I know,” Javert said dismally. “Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.”  
  
“Well, then…” Stumped for words, Valjean trailed off into silence. Then he felt Javert’s fingers wrap around his.  
  
“I like your solution better,” said Javert without looking at him. His grip tightened a fraction. “Thank you, Jean,” he added softly.  
  
Valjean smirked, squeezing back. “Entirely my pleasure, mon coeur. Entirely my pleasure.”


End file.
